Friday, May 29th

The Capital

I let the better part of the morning pass before returning to the motorway. It was around 130 miles to Washington, D.C. and I was not looking forward to this. It was quite busy but all in all not quite as terrifying as a few days ago. Either I had quietly gotten used to American motorway driving or the relative lack of exits and other disturbances resulted in a little more calm.

There wasn’t much time to admire the surrounding landscape. Only the odd river bridge was duly noted, if only for the rivers’ names: the Po River was followed soon by the Ni River.

About forty miles out of Washington its urban mess started. The motorway grew an extra two separated lanes in the centre that were marked as EZPass Express lanes. You had to pay if you wanted to use them, charges varied by time of day. Cunningly, the lanes could be reversed between northbound and southbound traffic. Right now, they were closed.

Somewhere a sign suggested to exit for the Amtrak Auto Train. This services operates between not quite Washington and not quite Orlando in Florida, saving you a long drive along this very busy motorway. Makes you wonder why this service isn’t offered on all Amtrak long distance trains.

A many-storeyed confusing of connection roads marked the arrival at Washington’s Beltway ring road and with it the immanence of the capital city. For once I didn’t shun the magic of modern navigation and arrived rather without incidence at the hotel. I handed the car’s keys over to the valet, a system of parking I still find rather strange and somewhat odd for a lawsuit-happy country such as America, and was, after having recovered from the morning’s drive, set out on foot to discover the nation’s capital.

I walked, past the State Department, to Lincoln Memorial. It was hot and humid in the city, nearly ninety degrees. A slight mist was blurring the obelisk of Washington Memorial and the copula of the Capitol, both surprisingly far away. The sheer length of the National Mall, the park at the heart of Washington, isn’t obvious from photograph or film: from Lincoln Memorial to Captiol it is a whopping two miles long.

Lincoln Memorial sits right by the Potomac river and in the approach path of National Airport, resulting in a constant stream of aeroplanes overhead. The monument itself consists of many stairs and a slightly larger-than-life statue of Lincoln looking down benevolently on his fellow country man. Into the right wall his second inaugural address is inscribed, the left wall contains his more famous Gettysburg Address, rather appropriately described as ‘that speech’ by a visitor.

The steps outside were filled with school kids, easily identifiable by their matching shirts and hats, splitting the steps into colour-coded sections of, incidentally, red, white, and blue.

I wandered down the Mall sticking to the shades provided by the trees instead of walking along the pool in the centre. The stroll was constantly disturbed by Segway tours, a new hell invented by the tourism industry.

The far end of the long reflecting pool was the National World War II Memorial, a fountain surrounded by two semicircles of pillars, each representing one state or territory, fifty-six in total. Perhaps not quite its intention, this display made me think that, seeing how often I had been to this country, it was perhaps time to adopt a state as my honorary home. But then, I hadn’t seen them all yet, so this election would be a little premature.

I turned left, towards the White House. A man stopped my and asked for the way to D Street. Being queried for direction in a city I just had arrived in for the first time made me hilariously proud with myself even if I had to apologize my ignorance.

Across Constitution Avenue, the large lawn between the Mall and the White House served as a giant parking lot. Perhaps this was appropriate, given the name National Mall. Some extra security barriers of grey concrete and rusted steel and I stood in front of the famous fence with its famous view across the South Lawn with trees and bushes trying to hide the White House. People keep saying they find it to be surprisingly small. It seemed about the right size to me. What I didn’t expect was the nice penthouse on the top floor with a large balcony: perfect place for a summer barbecue with a beer or two too many.

I returned to the Mall, decided to not walk up to the really quite insanely large Washington Monument. From here, I could first see the Capitol clearly. It’s famous copula was wrapped up in scaffolding. The Mall beyond, too, was under construction, diggers and trucks instead of sweating tourists.

I, too, slowly started to feel exhausted. I decided that the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum would provide an air-conditioned hide-away from the sun. Yet appropriately for an aviation-themed museum there was a long queue at the security checkpoint and I quickly change my mind. Continuing the walk towards the Capitol, I heard a train’s whistle and remembered that Washington’s Union Station was being raved about. Conveniently, it was located right behind Capitol Hill.

It turned out to really be an astonishing sight. Three colossal archways formed the main entrance to this neoclassical wonder of ever more arches. The entrance hall, following an emerging theme, was currently half under construction. I sat down on the rim of a circular plant pool to admire the non-scaffolded half. A man next to me took a shoe out of his back and started to pray to it. I decided to walk away before a man with a flask would appear and a fight break out.

The ticketing hall, despite or perhaps because not being as tall and more plain, felt even grander. An arched crimped roof span its entire width, undisturbed by pillars. Under it were the ticket counters and the beehive mess of food and services.

I left, wandering up Massachusetts Avenue, a bland and boring megacity street of tall corporate buildings. Hidden between were the odd old gem: a red-brick store house or a church. Not too far away from the station, the cityscape was interrupted by a manylane motorway running through a ditch, a noisy intermission.

I left the Avenue and started to wiggle my way through, turning right and left at random. I walked past the U.S. Accountability Office, at pains to avoid any unnecessary jokes, and through Chinatown, perhaps the liveliest neighbourhood I had seen so far. Beyond I returned to corporate D.C. There was no stores whatsoever and only the odd café or fast-food joint.

An unholy sound announced the arrival of an ambulance. It very carefully and slowly groped its way from intersection to intersection. The fire engine that passed a while later, meanwhile, was big and fast and angry. Its siren kept increasing pitch when motorists wouldn’t let it pass, wonderfully reflecting the increasing sense of urgency.

By now my feet were hurting in earnest. Eventually, somewhere past Connecticut Avenue where shops did appear for a while, I found a corner store and bought some water. But twenty oz., or a bit more than half a litre, wasn’t enough. Past New Hampshire Avenue, finally the houses became smaller. There even was some green here and there. Just a few more traffic lights and I was back at the hotel, falling onto my fabulous bed with a sigh of relief.